Page 122 of Spinner's Luck

Hell was coming.

I was going to make that motherfucker beg for death.

We moved in silent as ghosts.

Thunder and Mystic crept toward the back entrance, blades drawn. No gunfire yet. Keep it quiet. Make it hurt.

I saw one of Fang’s guys leaning against the loading dock, smoking, clueless as hell.

Big mistake.

Mystic came up fast, blade flashing—a single slice across the throat.

No scream. Just gurgling.

The body dropped.

I stepped over him without a second glance. Didn’t fucking care.

Two more outside. Thunder handled one. I took the other.

My knife sank deep into the guy’s ribs before he even knew I was there. I twisted the blade, feeling the moment he stopped breathing.

No mercy.

Not tonight.

The warehouse doors creaked open.

Thunder slid in first, his gun low, scanning the shadows. Mystic followed.

Then me.

And the second I stepped inside, I felt it.

Lucy.

She was here.

And so was he.

The place was dark, only a few flickering bulbs overhead. It smelled wrong.

And then—

A voice.

Fang.

Low. Taunting. Too fucking close.

I stopped breathing.

Then I saw her.

Tied to a chair. Wrists red, face bruised, but still awake and fighting.

Still mine.

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